


I Can’t Let You Go (Now That I’ve Got It)

by oikaiwas (unfinishedpages)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, God help Oikawa Tooru, IwaOi are Two Halves of a Whole Idiot, M/M, Making Out, MatsuHana are too powerful and I'd like for all of y'all to agree with me, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oh look, Romance, There's plot, This took an actual turn, locker room shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:16:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26312512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfinishedpages/pseuds/oikaiwas
Summary: Oikawa acknowledges a couple of truths every time he wakes up and gets ready for morning practice—the sky is blue, the grass is green, he’s going to be graduating high school in less than a year, and he is incredibly, irrevocably, and madly in love with his best friend of seventeen years.On the other hand, Hanamaki and Matsukawa take it in their hands to remedy the situation with an unlikely solution—a Tiktok challenge.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 16
Kudos: 313





	I Can’t Let You Go (Now That I’ve Got It)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I saw this 'kissing your best friend challenge' compilation in my youtube suggested page last weekend and thought, huh, that looks too good to be true, and oh, that one's gotta be staged, but then I thought, 'IwaOi.' I just really like BØRNS' music too, but I've listened to Electric Love so many times this week while writing this to the point that I hear it in my dreams.
> 
> I wrote this over the course of a week in between online classes, mostly because I'm losing my mind in quarantine, and the next thing I knew, this had plot and breached the 10k point.
> 
> the best friend to lovers and mutual pining is in the near thousands in the iwaoi ficdom but here's anotha one, enjoy

Oikawa feels like he’s been struck with bad luck, living in an age-old cliché—falling in love with the one person he’s had around before he was even born into the world.

He conceals a groan in his pillow at the thought, squirming around on his futon—who would have thought? The _Oikawa-san_ , admired by many and yet, ailed with unrequited love? Over his brute of a best friend, no less?

Oikawa thanked his lucky stars that Iwaizumi seemed like he didn’t have a romantic notion in his body at all, letting him simmer in his feelings without getting detected.

Hanamaki snorts from beside him, waving a lollipop in the air. “You realise Iwaizumi’s had girlfriends, right? Pretty sure he’s got an inkling about romance.”

They shouldn’t really be talking about Iwaizumi at all, not when he was just downstairs, hustling snacks from the pantry as the begrudging host for their sleepover.

Oh well, Oikawa’s never been good with keeping his mouth shut with secrets anyway. Usually, it was Iwaizumi he’d blurt them out to, which was usually followed by a grunted insult in conjunction to his last name, and occasionally, a smack or ball to the head when he was being a right prick, but ultimately met with steady, unwavering understanding and support.

Obviously, this was a secret he couldn’t just tell Iwaizumi. How would he even confess this to him?

_Oh, Iwa-chan, the sky is blue, the grass is green, I’m incredibly good looking, and I’ve been in love with you for almost half of my entire life now._

He shudders at the outcome, barely even letting himself ruminate on it in fear of how Iwaizumi might really react. That was a can of worms he wasn’t too willing to open just yet.

Which now leaves him confessing to probably the worst pair of people to say a secret to, because the judgement was immediate from these two.

Hanamaki continues to drive his point across. “Remember the time he saved up his allowance to get her a good white day gift? Iwaizumi definitely knows romance, well, more than you do, obviously.”

Matsukawa chimes in beside Hanamaki, continuing the thought. He blinks lazily in Oikawa’s direction and follows it up with a shit-eating grin. “That relationship lasted longer than yours did, and she didn’t slap him and stormed out in tears when they broke up.”

“I didn’t mean to make Miki-chan cry!” Oikawa retorts, hissing at Matsukawa before pouting petulantly into the pillow in his arms. “She knew volleyball and getting to Nationals was my priority!”

“She knew that, but would it have killed you to leave practice on time to take her out on a date out of your volition at least once?” Hanamaki replies, before shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway, Miki’s old news,” He makes a noncommittal sound from the back of his throat, popping the lollipop back into his mouth. “I mean, you mooning over your best friend is old news too, but at least now it’s genuinely come out of your own mouth.”

“Funny how you ended up pining over the one person who has known you his entire life, and therefore wouldn’t tolerate your shit.” Matsukawa whistles, before Hanamaki snickers over the entire thing. Oikawa’s frown gets deeper at the comment.

Oikawa knows Iwaizumi has been around since they were in diapers, through bloodied knees that had him wailing a little too loud in the preschool infirmary, through the throes of gangly limbs and cracking voices brought around by puberty, through the heartbreaks of lost matches and failed romances in middle school and high school.

Oikawa doesn’t know when exactly the feelings started to take root, what he knows are instances where he started to feel other things for his best friend.

There were many instances that Iwaizumi made him feel just a little special, like they were beyond friends, but a little less than lovers, like Iwaizumi always having his favourite snack every time he came over at his house.

Or that one time that Oikawa had forced Iwaizumi to watch a horror film with him as pre-teens, but he was the one that ended up getting so terrified of the antagonist that he burst into tears and had to share a futon with Iwaizumi to calm down for the rest of the night.

He knew he loved _Hajime-chan_ as much as a seven-year-old could with his little heart _,_ and wanted to be his friend forever, wanted to climb trees, help him catch beetles (even though little Tooru would scream bloody murder when the creepy crawlies even got close to him), and play volleyball for as long as they could.

At fifteen, he knew that the jolt of anger deep in the pit of his belly seeing Iwaizumi receive a confession from his then-girlfriend back in their final year in Kitagawa Daichi was envy, and not because Iwaizumi received a confession, but because he rarely got be on the receiving end of those gentle, dimpled smiles from his best friend.

It felt like those smiles were never for him to covet, and now, that girl saw them almost constantly.

All his exes did.

But never Oikawa.

Oikawa knows in his heart Iwaizumi holds some level of love for him—after all, why would he stay back for Oikawa’s solo practices when he could’ve just gone home thirty minutes earlier.

Why would Iwaizumi always make sure that he ate breakfast after morning practice by bringing him his own bento?

The problem now lies in the fact that Oikawa didn’t know where he lies in Iwaizumi’s life. Sure, Oikawa had many boxes ticked for him— _childhood neighbour, best friend, teammate, vice-captain—_ but he wasn’t sure that potential _lover_ or _boyfriend_ was in the options.

God forbid, _brother_ was in the options Iwaizumi had for him. Oikawa would rather shave all his hair off.

Now, at seventeen, Oikawa finds himself at a loss over his feelings. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are hardly any help over the matter because what kind of advice was _grow a pair and confess?_

Hanamaki rolls his eyes at him. “Good advice. You’ll never know what’ll happen unless you try.” He pauses to chew the hard candy off the plastic stick, tossing it towards the bin. The hard crunching of the candy makes Oikawa wince over his own teeth. “If it goes well, you can now make out in the showers after practice, maybe even more.” The grin he gives Oikawa is borderline feral. “We’ll even help if you want.”

Oikawa’s face scrunches into vehement distaste, and Matsukawa laughs at his expression, half-lidded eyes brimming with mirth.

“If it doesn’t go well, cry it out, train your ass off until we graduate. Move to the other side of the world, fuck as many people it takes to get over him. You’ll get over it.” Hanamaki chews thoughtfully for a few minutes, humming in delight as he finally gets to the bubblegum centre. “We get it, you love him, but you gotta rip the band-aid off one of these days, or what’s that thing they say at weddings?”

Matsukawa completes the thought again, as if completing each other's sentiments was normal. “Speak now or forever hold your peace?”

Oikawa deflates, whining into the futon. “But this is Iwa-chan we’re talking about.”

“What about me?” Iwaizumi chooses that moment to barge into his own bedroom, arms piled high with snacks and drinks. Oikawa swoons internally over the swell of biceps under the stretch of his thin t-shirt, before Matsukawa’s smirk at the corner of his eye manages to derail that train of thought. 

“That you took your sweet time getting us food!” Oikawa counters, whining heavily. Iwaizumi dumps the food on the folding table in the middle and looks at him flatly. “Maybe if you would’ve helped, I could’ve gotten them faster.”

“I’m a guest here, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa retorts, snatching a packet of crisps from the table before Iwaizumi can snatch them back. “You spend more time in my house than in yours. At least bring your own food instead of eating all of mine.”

“I can’t help it, Iwa-chan! You already have my favourites here.”

Hanamaki blows a bubble, while Matsukawa merely sips at his bottle of leftover Pocari sweat from practice as they observe the exchange, sparing each other a look.

This was going to take longer than they expected.

—

Practice goes on as per usual, with Oikawa shedding his frivolities for a couple of hours, and settling into his position as captain and setter seamlessly.

He wrangles the lower years in for a meeting in strategies and game plays with their coach—getting Kyoutani to join in team huddles was Iwaizumi’s responsibility, as always, because Iwaizumi’s unwavering stare and physical prowess had more persuasive power than Oikawa’s exasperation and anger all condensed into one sputtering mess.

The end of practice goes on as per usual too, with the rest of the team filling the locker room with banter, and Oikawa sending ball after ball across the gym one deafening jump serve after the other, with Iwaizumi’s unwavering presence by the bleachers keeping an eye on him.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa peak in to wave their goodbyes, followed by the first years bowing at Iwaizumi. Oikawa only notices them belatedly, waving back before getting back to spinning the leather ball in his hands to get back into the rhythm of things.

Oikawa’s chest heaves as the tension in his arms and belly dissipate, tugging at the neck of his shirt to wipe at his face haphazardly. Sweat behind his contact lenses was never a great combination, after all. Iwaizumi’s shoes squeak loudly on the lacquered floor of the gym as he walks over, offering a drink to Oikawa.

“Take a break.” He says, pushing the bottle in Oikawa’s hands, obviously not a suggestion. Oikawa makes a show of rejecting the bottle, but when the familiar furrow of frustration makes its way between Iwaizumi’s thick brows, he takes it willingly.

“Iwa-chan’s really trying to be my mom, huh?” The retort doesn’t get him a ball to the back of the head, or swat to the forehead, but it does get him a towel to the face, one that smells very deeply of the Iwaizumis’ favoured fabric conditioner at home, a scent he admittedly found too much comfort in. “You’re so rude, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi has made the habit of staying back during Oikawa’s personal practices, making sure he doesn’t stretch himself too thin, or even humouring him by developing a new play to be used in an actual match. There was also the fear of another injury scare if Oikawa lands wrong after a serve, but they don’t talk about that after the sleepless night they spent in the ER in back middle school.

“If you get sick and miss a match, I’m the one that’s never gonna hear the end of your whining if we don’t play the way you want us to.” He murmurs before the towel is pulled off his head. Oikawa feels a calloused palm close over his wrist to tug him down to sit cross-legged on the floor, and he’s thankful for the flush from overexertion masking the actual blush on his face from seeing Iwaizumi’s face up close.

Iwaizumi folds the towel into a more manageable size and pats at Oikawa’s temples and hairline to absorb the sweat beading on the skin, smoothing the fabric across his forehead and dampened curls.

Oikawa lets him go over his actions without complaint, preening over the attention from his best friend until Iwaizumi’s lips quirk up into a boyish grin, the deeper dimple on his left cheek making an appearance. “At least now you don’t look too much like a drenched poodle, Shittykawa.”

The comment makes him squawk in indignation, and the hard swat he lands on Iwaizumi’s chest makes the older boy laugh out loud, and reach out to hold Oikawa’s wrists in his hands to stop the incoming hits.

The grin is still on Iwaizumi’s face, both familiar and new to Oikawa’s eyes. Familiar, because he’s seen it enough times to know that Iwaizumi’s rougher features are capable of arranging themselves in such a soft expression. New, because Oikawa’s rarely been on the receiving side of this expression.

He’s always experienced all the highs and lows of Iwaizumi’s emotions—the fierce focus in the green of his eyes in a game, the typical gruffness of his irritation, the loud bark of his laughter, the low grumble of his sadness—but never this type of gentle lull; the soft curve of his lips, the hushed rumble of his voice, the bright viridian gaze in the half-lit gym, and the relaxed line of his brows.

It was all new, but never unwelcome.

Oikawa hates that he wants to see it more and more, even if it’s not for him to see. After all, this was a face saved for a lover and not a friend.

“Enough, you brat. Let’s go home, it's the weekend tomorrow and the custodian is about ten minutes away from locking us in here.”

“Just a few more minutes, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa grins up at him, turning up the charm and rubbing his hands together in a plea. Iwaizumi doesn’t fall for it. “We can pick this up tomorrow afternoon, Crappykawa, I wanna go home.”

Oikawa bites his tongue to conceal the squeak that nearly comes out when Iwaizumi tugs him up to his feet with hardly any effort, turning him around to raise the back of his shirt up. “At least wine and dine me first before you ravish me in the gym, Iwa-chan! You brute! Does that turn you on?” He elbows Iwaizumi with a sound of dissent when the older boy reaches up and tugs at a curl at the nape of his neck to shut him up.

“Quit being disgusting, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi grits out, wiping at Oikawa’s back with the towel and tugging at the ends to make sure that it lays flat under his shirt when he pulls it back down. “Come on, let’s get the nets down. I wanna watch this series I saw on Netflix last week.”

The prospect of having a movie night with Iwaizumi jolts him out of his thoughts, obediently following Iwaizumi to unwrap the poles and untie the nets. “Oooh, was it the one with the girl that just shows up out of nowhere in different schools?” He babbles excitedly, while Iwaizumi merely hums in affirmation.

“Alright Iwa-chan, but don’t hold on to me tonight if she creeps you out too much.” Oikawa wags his finger at his best friend, but Iwaizumi merely tosses ball after ball towards him to fill the ball bin.

“Just shut up and go shower, I’ll finish up here so we can go already.”

—

Oikawa emerges out of the locker room freshly showered and scrunching his curls dry with a towel, when his phone lights up with a message from Hanamaki.

**Fr: Makki**

_hey capt_

_u alive_

_u done w practice_

_or did iwaizumi drag u out of the gym_

**To: Makki**

_i just finished practice excuse you_

_and iwa-chan and i are gonna watch a movie later 😗_

**Fr: Makki**

_oOooOooH_

_didnt know iwaizumi was a netflix and chill kinda dude_

_u gonna call him iwa-chan in bed too?_

_ugh harder iwa-chan_

_or sum shit like that_

_im pretty sure u’d be out of it for days tho_

_rip in peace capt_

**To: Makki**

_Didn’t know we were part of your wet dreams, Makki-chan 😉_

**Fr: Makki**

_seeing ur iwa-chan put anyone in place is already a sight 2 see ok_

**To: Makki**

_okay this is getting weird now_

_this is iwa-chan don’t make it gross makki_

_and he’s not mine_

**Fr: Makki**

_dont u want him to be tho_

_???_

_anyway_

_did u think of him manhandling u_

_holding u down with his thiccc arms_

_or omg_

_are u secretly vanilla_

_the oikawa-san_

_is into vanilla sex_

_do ya want iwa to like_

_make sweet sweet love 2 u_

_oooooh capt u into neck kisses???_

Oikawa blushes all the way from his hairline down to his chest, feeling all sorts of flushed at the thought of Iwaizumi’s thick arms enveloping him gently from behind, sinking deep into the feeling of his thumbs rubbing circles into his belly and thighs, sighing at the kisses trailed from his earlobe down the line of his neck, with Iwaizumi nosing at the delicate skin of his nape and murmuring sweet nothings in his ear.

His phone buzzes with a new message when he doesn’t reply for an indeterminate amount of time.

**Fr: Makki**

_ur welcome for the wank bank deposit capt 😉_

_have fun_

_use protection_

_stretch_

_do prep_

_lemme know if u make it alive after the weekend_

**To: Makki**

_YOURE A MENACE MAKKI_

**Fr: Makki**

**_😗😗😗😗😗_ **

****

Oikawa lets out a shriek when Iwaizumi picks the perfect time to fling the locker room door open, making him drop his phone to the floor. “What is taking you so long?”

“I—uh,” Oikawa starts off unintelligently, still reeling from the image his brain had willingly and vividly provided. It was a good thing it was interrupted before he could spiral down and leave him unable to look Iwaizumi in the eye. “Makki and I were texting.” He says, ducking down to pick his phone off the floor. “Didn’t notice the time, sorry, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa laughs off, scratching at his neck.

Iwaizumi thankfully doesn’t linger on the matter, and nods, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I’ll wait downstairs. You good with locking up here?”

Oikawa shoots him a Colgate-level smile in response. “I got it, Iwa-chan.” He replies, winking at the older boy. Iwaizumi sighs, tossing the locker room keys in Oikawa’s direction, and points back down to the grounds. “I’ll wait by the gate. If you’re not there in fifteen minutes, I’m going home by myself.” He threatens.

Oikawa ends up chasing Iwaizumi by the gate when he ends up a minute too late, both laughing as Iwaizumi starts to brisk walk away from him, before bursting into a full run down the street.

“Iwa-chan! Wait! You know my hair takes too long to dry!”

“Go home by yourself, Shittykawa.”

—

By the time they get to the closest conbini near their houses, it's mostly quiet, manned by a part-timer college student that looks like he was minutes away from passing out on the counter.

Oikawa takes the initiative to grab a basket and go to town on the frozen aisle, while Iwaizumi busies himself with the actual snacks. “Are you done?” Iwaizumi asks, basket already filled halfway to the brim with both his and Oikawa’s favourites.

Oikawa purses his lips, tapping at it with his index finger, way too fixated on the tubs of ice cream in the freezer to notice Iwaizumi’s lingering stare on his lips before it was gone. “Any day now, Oikawa.” He grumbles, already setting the basket down on the counter.

“I can’t pick between Mint Chocolate Chip and Pralines and Cream, Iwa-chan! Give me a little more time to think!”

“Why is Mint Chocolate Chip even part of your choices? What shitty taste for a shitty person.”

Oikawa lets out an indignant noise, gasping in offence. “Excuse you, Iwa-chan! I have impeccable taste!” He scoffs, a hand already placed at his chest and clutching some imaginary pearls.

Iwaizumi lets out a breath of exasperation, peeking over Oikawa’s shoulder before he’s sliding the glass doors open and picking both flavours out without argument. He doesn’t miss the glint of pure, unadulterated spark of joy in Oikawa’s eyes. “Just don’t come whining at me when you get a pimple from this again.”

“Dairy makes me breakout, Iwa-chan, you know that!”

“What did I say about whining?” Iwaizumi threatens, arm already reaching out to jab Oikawa at the waist, who lets out an indecipherable noise and steers away from his reach.

The person manning the counter was taking his sweet time punching everything out, letting Oikawa browse through the sweets and chocolates laid out on the shelves, before bursting into a full-body blush as he noticed some other _sweet flavoured_ things available on the counter.

Oikawa’s been staring at the condom and lube selection for a good two minutes now, and his mind starts to wander. He blames Makki for planting it in his mind—Iwaizumi being into Netflix and Chill, or whatever pretence to have sex—they’ve done the Netflix part of years, and it makes Oikawa wonder which of Iwaizumi’s ex-girlfriends managed to experience all of it.

Or, if he had the possibility of experiencing that with Iwaizumi at all.

Not that he was a virgin by any means, nor was Iwaizumi.

The only part of Iwaizumi’s life he wasn’t privy to was how he was as a lover. It was only natural to be curious about things that are kept from reach.

He was just curious—about how it would feel like with a guy, how it would feel like to be with Iwaizumi, how Iwaizumi would feel. How his body would feel pressed against Oikawa’s. How his calloused hands would feel all over Oikawa’s skin. How his kisses would feel like.

Would he have the same tactical aggression he had on the court in bed? Or would he take things slow? Would he be as nervous, and excited as Oikawa?

Oikawa belatedly realises that the white and teal blue of their Seijoh tracksuits doesn’t do that good of a job at hiding the deep pink in his skin and that the series of _beeps_ of items being punched was over.

“Oi, why the hell are you spacing out over there?” Iwaizumi calls out, the bags of food already hooked over his shoulder and paid for.

Oikawa quickly turns on his heels and follows Iwaizumi out without a word, blinking at the streetlights lining their neighbourhood as they make their way home.

Well, Iwaizumi’s home, but wherever Iwaizumi was Oikawa’s home anyway.

“You’re quiet, normally I’d appreciate that, but it’s weird.” Iwaizumi starts, sneaking glances at Oikawa’s blank face under the yellow lights. “You’re not sick, are you?” He stops walking, reaching over to press his hand on Oikawa’s forehead, brushing his curls up in the process.

Oikawa chooses to make a fool of himself at that moment, staring down at Iwaizumi so hard he makes his own eyes cross before he backs away, waving his hands. “Iwa-chan, quit being a mother hen! I’m fine,” He tacks on a grin on his face for good measure. “And I can be quite pensive you know.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the response, but he doesn’t let his arm down. “I didn’t even know you knew what that word means, and I wasn’t done checking, come here.” He insists, tugging at Oikawa’s wrist to steady him in place, and completely ignoring the fact that Oikawa’s blood pressure was rising off the charts for possibly the third time in two hours.

He’s thankful for the five centimetres of height he has over Iwaizumi, because, from this angle, he can see the furrow between his brows—a norm when he seems to look in Oikawa’s general direction, what makes it different is what emotion is behind it. Right now, it’s a worried one, as he tries to assess Oikawa’s temperature.

Oikawa also trails his gaze at his eyes, admiring the few specks of brown in the pools of vibrant green, the slope of his nose, the sharp points of his cupid’s bow, and the fullness of his lower lip. It takes every bit of Oikawa’s willpower not to lean in and claim that lower lip between his, to worry it between his teeth, and to soothe the sting with his tongue—he doesn’t want to soothe a broken heart and a bloody nose courtesy of his ex-best friend.

He pats at Iwaizumi’s wrist with his free hand, forcibly laughing as he pulls it away from his forehead. “Probably just a little cold—you did rush me while drying my hair, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouts at him, running his fingers through the mess of curls on his head. “See! They’re all over the place! What if people see me like this?” He complains, immediately fretting over his hair, as if he wasn’t thinking about kissing his best friend in the middle of the street.

Iwaizumi flicks at his forehead, snickering at Oikawa’s affronted face. “It’s nine in the evening. No one needs to see your ugly mug at this hour of the evening.” He reaches up to tug the hood of Oikawa’s jacket over his head, even going through the trouble of buttoning it at the chin. He mutters mostly to himself. “You should really bring a beanie for these sudden cold nights.”

Oikawa realises he hasn’t let go of Iwaizumi’s wrist, and that Iwaizumi has had no attempts to tug his arm away. Maybe he hasn’t noticed.

Oh well.

Oikawa is willing to wade through the muck and crawl his way up in volleyball, blink the blood, sweat, and tears away from his eyes to beat Ushiwaka and prove that his choice to go to Seijoh was the best decision and to show Tobio that hard work would always trump talent, but with Iwaizumi, Oikawa is just all too content to take what he gives him.

As much as he wants to take all of Iwaizumi, keep him close, make him his own—not just the familiar grins, not just the aggressive, but well-placed worry Iwaizumi has for him as his friend, not just the knowing looks to launch a long choreographed play on the court, and not hide his affections behind stolen glances and flirtatious advances that Iwaizumi can easily brush away—he’ll happily take the hand that Iwaizumi offers, and not reach out for more.

He pushes a smile on his face and tugs at his best friend’s arm, running at his house’s direction. With the cool wind biting at his cheek, Oikawa pockets his heart from his sleeve with an easy quirk of a manicured eyebrow. “Quit your dallying, Iwa-chan! My ice cream is gonna melt. Come on, I wanna watch Nanno make people jealous over how pretty she is!”

“You two have that in common anyway, pretty, being an actual hell child.” Iwaizumi yells back, quickly beating Oikawa to the gate of his house.

Oikawa jams his hip against the gate trying to beat Iwaizumi to the door, laughing as he tries not to fall into a heap into the genkan and break something, but not failing to call out to Iwaizumi’s mother. “We’re home!”

“Welcome back! Tooru-kun, did you tell your mother that you’d be staying here tonight?” His mother asks, hands already on her hips as she stares up at Oikawa, who grins sheepishly and fishes out his phone to call his mother.

“Hi _okaa-san_ , staying at Iwa-chan’s tonight!”

Oikawa’s mother can be heard chuckling on the other line before she makes a sound of affirmation. _“I think the whole neighbourhood knows that you’re at Hajime-kun’s tonight. I’ll let your dad know.”_

“Just told her, _oba-san_.” He wiggles his eyebrows twice, laughing when Iwaizumi’s mother acquiesces. “Alright, want some dinner, boys?

What Oikawa fails to notice while he chats Iwaizumi’s mum up is the fond glint in Iwaizumi’s eyes the entire time he talks his mother’s ears off while he helps set the table, charmingly answering all the prying questions he refuses to answer, lingering in the living room like he’s always belonged in his family.

—

Oikawa is going through another dilemma.

Well, it's an extension of a previous dilemma, but he’d rather not acknowledge the fact that the other dilemma exists—because of Hanamaki and Matsukawa messing with his head two weeks ago, it has snowballed into something Oikawa wasn’t ready to come into terms with.

He’s become hyper-aware of his more than friendly affection towards Iwaizumi and has unknowingly driven a wedge between both of them as he tries to function like a normal human being without attachments again.

Which proves to be difficult when you spend almost every hour of every day with them in class, in practice, and the walk to and from Seijoh’s grounds to their respective houses.

There was only so much bullshit Oikawa was capable of sprouting.

Ah yes, the new dilemma.

The new one is the fact that he walked into Iwaizumi’s class for lunch, looking forward to making amends and giving him a flimsy excuse as to why he was weird recently because Oikawa admits he misses Iwaizumi’s company, so if he needed to lie through his teeth to spend time with him normally again, he would.

That was the plan until Oikawa sees him getting confessed to by a tiny second year in the hallway, who had her arms outstretched towards Iwaizumi, a letter in her hands.

Iwaizumi blinks in surprise, blurting out a garbled, “Sorry?”

Second-year peeks up from her bow, face flushed and eyes very much focused on the white canvas tops of Iwaizumi’s indoor shoes, rather than his face. Maybe it was also the sheer amount of attention she was getting, confessing in the hallway like that.

“T...this is for you, Iwaizumi-senpai.” She mumbles, and Oikawa has to bite his tongue from rolling her eyes in front of Matsukawa, who was directly watching the scene and Oikawa with a knowing glint in his eyes. “I hope you accept my feelings.” She continues, voice trailing off due to the nerves.

She called him senpai. _Adorable,_ Oikawa spits out in his inner monologue.

Iwaizumi seems to shake the residual shock off from the situation, smiling at her hesitantly. He reaches out to pat her shoulder. “Do you want to speak somewhere private?” He offers, and Oikawa’s fist tightens around the handle of his bento without him noticing.

She nods excitedly, and Iwaizumi smiles, calling out to Hanamaki to tell him that he was leaving for a bit. Oikawa follows them with his eyes, watching them disappear down the staircase before heaving a breath from his lungs and walking away in the opposite direction without waiting for Iwaizumi to come back.

Confessions were a part of teenage life—Oikawa gets them on an almost bi-weekly basis since entering high school and becoming captain of the volleyball club, on top of being stereotypically attractive and charming. He attracts attention from both girls and guys, and he’s got the rejection routine down to a tee.

Thank them for their affection, bring them down gently after saying some generic excuse, and cheer them up. Oikawa does accept the letters—and hell, he reads them—it's the least he can do, and still greets them when their paths cross across campus to ease their discomfort.

He forgets that Iwaizumi is almost on the same level of popularity as he is, being the ace and vice-captain of the team, and being ruggedly handsome in comparison to Oikawa’s more delicate features. Oikawa hates to admit it, but Iwaizumi is incredibly sincere when it comes to talking to the girls—and the occasional guy—who comes up to confess to him.

With the thoughts swirling around his head and the newly developed tunnel vision he’s had for Iwaizumi recently, Oikawa admits that it's so easy to fall for Iwaizumi. He’s strong, steadfast, and sincere, and any person would be lucky to have Iwaizumi as a boyfriend.

He sneaks back to the gym for the remainder of the lunch hour, leaving his bento on a bench, and sheds off his uniform blazer. A good ten minutes pass before Matsukawa enters the gym as he’s pulling the ball bin out of the equipment closet towards the net they’ve left still set up from morning practice.

“What?” Oikawa asks while he pockets his tie, when Matsukawa merely lingers on the nearby bench, long legs crossed neatly in front of him. “I haven’t said anything yet.”

Oikawa scoffs, already setting up training cones on the other side of the court. “You look like you got a lot to say.”

Matsukawa sips at the juice box in his hand nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. “You look like you don’t wanna hear them, so what’s the use?”

Oikawa narrows his eyes and purses his lips at Matsukawa, contemplating on the matter while he spins a ball between his palms. Matsukawa on the other hand, cocks his head to the side wordlessly, a self-satisfied look on his face because he knows he’s already won this battle of the wills. “Ugh, fine! What is it?”

“He rejected her, you know. Just wanted to do it privately to spare her the embarrassment.” Says Matsukawa, who is still observing the minute expressions on his face.

“Okay.” Oikawa bites back, voice dripping with sarcasm. He doesn’t say anything else and goes through the motions of preparing for a serve. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” Matsukawa asks when Oikawa doesn’t respond directly to the information he volunteered.

“I am not!” Oikawa cries indignantly after he lets a serve fly over his shoulder. It misses where he was aiming for on the other side of the court, much to his chagrin.

“What’s so bad about admitting that to yourself? That you like Iwaizumi. That you want him for yourself. That you don't want people confessing to him anymore.” Matsukawa’s deep voice rings out behind him.

Oikawa serves another ball, and this time it hits the farthest cone to the right with a loud thud, and he lands on his feet with a quiet squeak of his shoes on the lacquered wood. “Because I don’t know how to tell him that, Mattsun!” He whips around to stare at Matsukawa with a frazzled cocktail of emotions on his face, visible through the crack on the shiny veneer of charm and confidence he keeps on.

“I’m not exactly the confessing type, I’ve always been the one being confessed to.” Oikawa almost yells out arrogantly, voice shrill as the compressed ball of stress he’s been holding on to for the past two weeks finally unravels. Matsukawa doesn’t use up the extra energy to not roll his eyes at the comment.

“What do I do? Go up to him and give him a letter like that second year?” He asks, arms flailing around with the intensity of his emotions.

“There is no way in hell I’m gonna confess that way. You know what I’d do if I confess to Iwa-chan?” Matsukawa looks mildly concerned about the outburst until he grins, taking the opportunity to egg Oikawa on. “Pray tell, captain.”

“I’m gonna snatch him up by the shirt and just kiss him, and he’s gonna love me back, that’s what!” Oikawa screeches out, chest heaving before he realises what he’s walked into, dread immediately filling his stomach once he sees Matsukawa’s lazy smirk. “Oh, really?”

“Fuck.” Oikawa whispers after a few bouts of silence, smacking at his cheeks.

“Maybe you’ll get to do that when you finally confess to him.” The taller boy drawls out, looking like the cat who got the cream when Oikawa’s pale skin flushes as dark as their school tie.

It was just last week where he vehemently pushed down every thought of _sleeping_ with Iwaizumi after that fiasco in the condom rack in the conbini, and now Matsukawa has casually pulled it at the forefront of this brain again. “Stop that!”

“I hardly doubt you’d want Iwaizumi to stop though.” Matsukawa chortles at the look of constipation on Oikawa’s face. “Oh god, fine, fine!” He wheezes out, wiping at his eyes when Oikawa storms away to clear the balls.

He pokes at Oikawa’s bento, toying at the ends of the cloth tied around it. “You gonna continue to mope, ‘cause if you are, can I eat your lunch?”

Oikawa immediately jogs down to the bench once he’s done and slaps his hands away, undoing the knot himself. “You can have some! Not all of it—hey!”

—

Oikawa tries to get the confession and his meltdown to Matsukawa out of his mind when afternoon practice rolls around but ultimately fails.

He flubs some of his serves—some out of bounds, some just hitting which unfortunate middle blocker on his side of the court, makes some less than desirable tosses which make Kyoutani frown at him harder than usual, and Iwaizumi to finally drag him to the side when Irihata yells at him to get his head in order.

“What’s wrong with you?” Iwaizumi asks, hands on his hips as he stares at Oikawa, who was busy nursing a bottle of water. Oikawa almost startles at his voice, before he finally places the cool veneer of nonchalance over his face.

“Just a little out of it, Iwa-chan.” He waves his hands in the air as if wafting away some lingering bad luck. “Off days and whatnot.” Oikawa offers, grinning at Iwaizumi as he tugs his shirt to clean the beads of sweat on his upper lip.

Iwaizumi’s eyes suddenly whisk up to meet his from somewhere else he didn’t notice, a slight flush across the tan of his cheekbones. He distantly hears Hanamaki groan from the side, followed by the distinct sound of his hand smacking against his forehead.

“You flubbed more serves and tosses in the past three hours than you have in three months. You’re not having an off day, you’re distracted, that’s what.” Oikawa bristles at Iwaizumi’s accusation, mostly because it’s true. He’s been preoccupied to the point that it's messing with team practices.

It feels like he’s barely in his body, squirming in his skin trying to find his place, and Iwaizumi’s admonishing gaze makes it much worse. “You notice your mistakes on your off days, but you’ve messed up this play three times. What’s bothering you?” He points out, adding to Oikawa’s building irritation.

“I know I’ve been messing up, Iwa-chan, so quit your nagging.” Oikawa seethes, cocking his head to the side as he smiles none too kindly at Iwaizumi. It’s a warning that he hopes Iwaizumi will take because he’s too tired to even argue.

“You don’t have to rub it in, and you don’t need to stick your nose in my business, okay?” The rest of the team instantly catch onto the sudden terse air between their captain and vice-captain, their murmurs quickly quieting to observe the two.

“You in a proper headspace when playing is my business, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi grits out just as harshly, glaring back at Oikawa as if he’s waiting for an opening to dig his teeth in. “You want us to win, right? Then sort your shit, or keep it out of practice.” His jaw tenses, and Oikawa’s eyes glint, shoulders tensing in anticipation of this argument escalating into a physical fight.

Matsukawa gets in between them quickly before Irihata notices. “Stop biting at each other's heads. Come on, break it up.” He presses at Oikawa’s chest lightly, who quickly shoves his hand away and walks off, much to Iwaizumi’s surprise.

The rest of the team watch Oikawa kick his shoes off and jam his feet into his outdoor sneakers without fanfare. Iwaizumi deflates, wanting to follow him but the taller boy’s hand on his arm stops him from doing so. “Let him have a bit of air, he’ll be fine.”

“Shit,” Iwaizumi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think I went too far.”

Hanamaki watches Iwaizumi pace in place, unable to keep himself steady. He shrugs his shoulders, patting Iwaizumi on the back. “Keep it off the court for now, yeah?” He offers, smiling at Iwaizumi. Irihata blows on his whistle to get them all back on their feet, calling back into the court. “Where’s Oikawa?” He asks, scanning the gym around for the team captain. “Iwaizumi?”

“Uh,” Iwaizumi starts, quickly racking his brain for an answer. “Went out to the restroom, just a few minutes ago.” He forces out, unwilling to tell their head coach about the spat that just took place less than five minutes ago.

Oikawa comes back to the gym ten minutes after the argument, face blank and eyes stormy when he enters the court again. He yells out an apology when Irihata chastises him for taking his sweet time outside, and plays normally again like the first half of practice didn’t happen. Iwaizumi follows him with his eyes but doesn’t bring up his abysmal performance from earlier.

Iwaizumi contemplates going home alone without Oikawa as they conclude practice without speaking to each other, bringing down equipment and mopping down the floors without a second glance at each other. He ultimately debates against it when Oikawa doesn’t follow them to the locker rooms after clean-up duty, utilising the time alone for solo practice yet again. “You gonna talk to him?” Matsukawa asks him, head tipped in his direction to keep his voice down.

“If he wants to,” Iwaizumi answers, tugging his shirt over his head. “You know how he gets when he’s mad.” He lingers around his things, staring at Oikawa’s closed locker. “Wish I knew what was making him like that though.” Matsukawa makes an amused noise, raising a thick brow at Iwaizumi. “So you can help him?”

“I guess?” Iwaizumi grumbles, keeping himself occupied with folding his school uniform and keeping his locker clean. “I dunno. Usually, when he’s got a problem, I never hear the end of it,” He lets out a deep sigh, staring at the cartoon alien head hanging off a keychain on the strap of his gym bag.

“I’m just worried. It seems like a really big thing if he’s keeping it from me.” Iwaizumi cuts himself to wave goodbye to the lower years already filing out of the room, leaving only he, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki in the room. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t notice Hanamaki staring up from his phone to exchange a loaded glance with Matsukawa, while the taller boy merely rolls his eyes in response. “I’m gonna get something. You guys can go ahead if you want, I’ll lock up tonight.” He says, pocketing his wallet and dashing out of the locker room without any more explanation, or a response from his friends.

Hanamaki finally lets out a deep groan once he’s out of earshot. “Oh god, I don’t think I can take more of this moping anymore. Iwaizumi moping feels like a bad omen, I feel like something gonna happen soon.” He ruffles his hair between his fingers, tugging the pink locks up and out.

Matsukawa chuckles at the comment, reaching forward to smooth Hanamaki’s hair from the mess he made of it. “All we can do is give them a gentle nudge, ‘Hiro.”

“If this goes on longer, I’ll be giving the hard shove and you’re gonna help me.”

“Not a problem with me.” The taller replies, cocking his head at the door. “Wanna come over?” He gives Hanamaki a specific stare, followed by an almost sheepish curl of his lips. It makes the pink-haired boy scoff before grabbing his things. “You’re never subtle, Issei, you know that, right?”

Matsukawa leans down to press a kiss onto Hanamaki’s temple, before tugging at his fingers. “Never tried to be. With our teammates, do we really need to?”

“Kunimi probably knows.”

“Kunimi wouldn’t even blink if I stuck my tongue down your throat in front of him.”

“Kinky.” Hanamaki snickers, walking down the stairs side by side with Matsukawa. “Never knew you were into that.”

—

Iwaizumi jogs back into the Seijoh’s gates and sees the gym door already closed, immediately peeking into the locker room to see if Oikawa was angry enough to go home by himself. His sigh of relief is enough to make Oikawa jump from his seat, head whipping around to look at the source of the sound, eyes widening in alarm. They immediately narrow when he sees who it is, turning back around to whatever he was doing.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi starts once he’s close enough to Oikawa. “Here.” He dumps the conbini bag full of Oikawa’s favourites in his lap, eyes lowered in apology. Oikawa’s jaw drops at the sheer weight of the bag, and the multiple packs of milk bread and the strawberry topped dark chocolates he liked but rarely bought due to the price inside it. “What…?”

“It’s a peace offering, dumbass.” Iwaizumi admonishes, sitting on the other end of the bench across Oikawa. “For earlier. I didn’t mean to say it like that,” He softens his tone, fidgeting with the frayed stitches on his wallet, the one Oikawa got him a few birthdays back. “You’re never like that at practice, and I was just concerned about you. I’m sorry.”

Oikawa stares at the empty space between them, letting Iwaizumi’s words sink in.

He knows Iwaizumi cares about him, he’s more than aware of it. He also knows he had been unreasonably unfair towards him too—he was just incredibly jealous at the thought of sharing his best friend to a girl he was going to date for a couple of months at most, especially now that he’s fully realised the extent of his feelings for the other boy.

He knew Iwaizumi rejected the girl from earlier, but who’s to say he’d reject the next one? Or the one after that?

Oikawa has tried to downplay his feelings for Iwaizumi almost three weeks now, but it's just made them blossom in his chest more, especially when he does shit like this. He almost wants to grab Iwaizumi by the shoulders and shake him and ask him why the hell was he making it so hard not to love him so much.

“We’ve been friends before I even knew how to say my own name properly,” Iwaizumi says quietly beside him, voice uncharacteristically soft with Oikawa. “We told each other everything, so that made me worry less about you because I knew how your head worked.” He grins at Oikawa, clearly hesitant to keep on voicing his thoughts, but ultimately pushes through against the nerves.

“It just looks like it's been eating at you for a while.” Oikawa’s heart thunders in his chest at Iwaizumi’s words, stomach filling up with dread. _Does he know?_

He lets out a shaky breath, worrying his lip between his teeth at all the possibilities that could happen in the next few seconds. Iwaizumi tries to look at Oikawa’s expression with his head tipped down and curls cascading down his forehead, but he can’t really pinpoint the name of the emotions on his face.

“I don’t know what’s eating at you,” He offers, “But you know you can tell me anything, right? And that I’ll try to help you figure it out?” Oikawa hates the gentle sincerity in Iwaizumi’s voice because the sheer truth in his words makes him so weak in the knees.

He knows that Iwaizumi will always try to help him, no matter how angry he was over whatever grade A bullshit Oikawa had gotten himself into, no questions asked. “Yeah, Iwa-chan.” He rasps out when he finds his voice. “I know that.”

Iwaizumi searches his eyes, the furrow in between his brows growing deeper as the bout of silence between them grows longer. He sighs, the sound tinged with defeat. “Is it something you can’t tell me yet?” Iwaizumi asks instead, and this time, Oikawa nods slowly, rearranging his hands over the bag on his lap.

“You think you’ll tell me when you’re ready?” Iwaizumi’s voice is hushed again like he’s scared of what Oikawa will say. Oikawa can’t figure out why it was _Iwaizumi_ who was scared when he had the secret which could put seventeen years of friendship in jeopardy.

“Maybe, Iwa-chan. I haven’t figured it out yet.” He answers the last bit honestly, offering Iwaizumi a shaky smile. “I’ll let you know.”

Iwaizumi mirrors his smile with one of his own, just as forced, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Okay.”

Oikawa squirms in his seat, until he remembers something, picking out the tub of sour gummy worms from his bag, placing it in between them. He had meant to give them during lunch, but with the fiasco that occurred and Oikawa’s pettiness winning over, he planned to just eat them at home as he moped.

“I’m sorry too, Iwa-chan. I was being unfair earlier the past few days, and I—yeah.” He mumbles, still not possessing the same range of emotional maturity his best friend had.

It seems to suffice for Iwaizumi as the tub disappears into his bag, and his sneakers come into view from the spot on the floor Oikawa’s eyes had been glued on for the five minutes. “Let’s go home?”

Oikawa tips his head up, seeing Iwaizumi’s crooked grin directed towards him. _Take what he gives, and demand nothing more,_ he reminds himself before he gets up from the bench and gathers his things to leave. “Yeah.”

—

The band-aid solution works for some time. Iwaizumi and Oikawa go back to their normal routine of practice-school-practice in anticipation of Inter-High qualifiers, dicking around during the lunch hour, and stressing over college applications.

Iwaizumi has taken to learning English almost religiously for the TOEFL exams for that university in California he’s trying to get to, and Oikawa’s eyes roll into the back of his head constantly while trying to commit Spanish verb tenses into his head, mirroring the prompts from the language app like a parrot in his free time.

Oikawa acknowledges a couple of truths every time he wakes up and gets ready for morning practice—the sky is blue, the grass is green, he’s going to be graduating high school in less than a year, and he is incredibly, irrevocably, and madly in love with his best friend of seventeen years.

Living with the truth makes it easier to accept, rather than vehemently denying it, he guesses.

Though there is a truth that he has also been forced to live with recently, and that is Hanamaki’s recent fixation on Tiktok.

Don’t get Oikawa wrong, he was still a teenage boy through and through, and body gags still make him laugh until his sides hurt and he’s curled up on the ground trying to catch his breath, but Hanamaki outside of training is obsessed with it.

Their third-year group chat is just filled with white kids doing dance covers that leave a lot to be desired, animal Tiktoks that Iwaizumi and Matsukawa actually like, the obviously staged challenges Oikawa doesn’t understand the point of, and the occasional nonsensical gem of a Tiktok that just makes all four of them lose their minds the way Vine did back in middle school.

Hanamaki has also started to abuse his power as a third-year to rope in the younger club members into the dumbest video ideas, while Matsukawa has been roped into the position of a somewhat willing cameraman.

The one time Hanamaki managed to get the club members to participate in a challenge, it involved trying to get a bottle cap off with a spinning kick—which got him yelled at by Iwaizumi when Kindaichi overestimated himself and nearly slipped across the wooden floors, and when Kyoutani nearly broke one of the overhead gym lights when he sent the whole bottle flying.

Other than to promote some post-practice fuckery with their younger teammates with closing a row of locker doors with their heads with the rest of the team’s maniacal laughter behind him, Hanamaki’s fixation seemed to wane pretty quickly with the way the videos in their group started to dwindle aside from him tagging Oikawa after sending a disastrous Tiktok with a _“dis u”_ under it.

Or so he thought.

After a particularly gruelling day of practice—even to Oikawa’s standards, he could feel his chest aching from the diving stills from earlier—he caught sight of Hanamaki’s grin at his phone and immediately felt a chill down his spine. That was the grin Hanamaki had when he was up to no good. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have let himself be goaded into another one of Hanamaki’s ideas, so he wouldn’t have to be stuck in this mess.

“Oi, captain, how come you didn’t join us in our Tiktok challenges?” Hanamaki drawls out, roughly towelling his hair dry with one hand, the other preoccupied with his phone. “Oh, the one where Kindaichi nearly dislocated a hip? Or the one Mad dog-chan almost gave himself a concussion? No thanks.” Oikawa replies in an almost sing-song voice, wagging his fingers before he’s pulling a shirt over his head.

“Don’t be such a killjoy. You and your vice-captain should do one together.” Hanamaki replies, grinning at him as if he held one of Oikawa’s deepest secrets in the palm of his hands. “And if we were gonna do one, what do you want us to do Makki?”

Hanamaki turns his phone towards Oikawa, where a glam rock song is blaring out, the singer’s vocals backed up with a strong drum line as he sings the chorus. He can barely make out the caption on the video, but once he manages to steady Hanamaki’s hand to read it properly, his blood runs cold. “Absolutely not.” Oikawa almost shouts, garnering the attention of the rest of the team that were still in the room.

“You backin’ down from a challenge, captain?” Hanamaki counters, leaning back on his chair with a playful smirk on his face. “I don’t, but not when it involves kissing someone who can punch me in the face after it's done for your entertainment.”

“Boo, you’re no fun. Just say you’re chickenshit.” The pink-haired boy blows a raspberry at Oikawa, sticking his tongue at him, the silver ball of his tongue piercing glinting under the overhead lights. Oikawa can’t hold down his scoff and the way his eyes roll so hard in his skull, his pettiness getting ahead of him. “If you do it, I will.” He grins, unable the way Matsukawa shakes his head behind him.

Hanamaki’s grin turns absolutely feral at the challenge, even calling Kunimi to help him film it. The younger boy sighs but relents when Hanamaki’s phone is pushed into his hands.

Matsukawa laughs loudly when Hanamaki looks at him and curls his finger in a so-called seductive manner, and Oikawa has to pick his jaw off the floor when Hanamaki reaches up to cup Matsukawa’s jaw and pull him for a _really deep_ kiss when the sustained note of the pre-chorus kicks in.

Kindaichi flushes up the roots of his air, Yahaba’s eyebrows rise up in surprise, and even Watari has a confused quality to his smile.

“Y–you planned this, didn’t you?” Oikawa all but screeches, panicking at how he was going to pull that shit off with Iwaizumi. Hanamaki plants a kiss on Matsukawa’s cheek before letting him go, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe, but you did say you were gonna do it if I did, and I did. No take-backs, Oikawa.”

“Makki!” Oikawa whines out, shaking his head. “You know why I can’t just do that!”

“A challenge is a challenge, Oikawa. Iwaizumi’s just about done with his shower too.” Matsukawa says, thumb pointed towards the direction of the showers. “I’m not listening to you either Mattsun, you planned this!”

“Chickenshit.”

“Makki, you’re a menace.” Oikawa seethes out when Hanamaki takes his phone back from Kunimi, who already seems so done with what was happening. He immediately points his phone camera towards Oikawa, who grimaces when he remembers that his and Iwaizumi’s lockers were just next to each other.

This was a matter of his pride, and on the other hand, a small window of chance to get to act on his feelings.

“Any time now, Oikawa.” Hanamaki looks at Oikawa over his phone, head cocked in a challenge when Iwaizumi walks into the room. Someone makes a choking sound in the background—presumably, Kindaichi—when he turns to look, and Oikawa nearly chokes himself when he sees Iwaizumi’s naked chest and the way his tracksuit bottoms hang on his hips, showing off the waistband of his underwear.

“What’s going on?” Iwaizumi asks while he towels himself dry, unaware of the chaos that transpired in the ten minutes that he was in the shower.

Oikawa barely has a split second to think things through, but ultimately decides to just _fuck it._ “Don’t punch me for this, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa whispers loud enough for the other to catch before he turns to Iwaizumi with a determined look on his face, zeroing on his lips for luck, while the other boy only looks in with confusion.

“For what, Shitty—” Iwaizumi manages to get out, before Oikawa is reaching for him with a wistful look on his face, cupping his jaw with those slender fingers and kisses him tightly across the lips.

His eyes are clenched tightly in fear of seeing Iwaizumi’s genuine reaction, instead choosing to savour this experience before Iwaizumi pushes him off. It hurts a little bit—their noses have bumped a little bit with the way Oikawa’s overestimated the angle, and how fast it pulled Iwaizumi’s face towards his, but at the same time, it beats every other kiss Oikawa experienced with his exes.

No other kiss with his exes made his chest tighten, then loosen up with relief in the same deep exhale from his nose.

No other kiss with his exes made Oikawa feel like he was on top of the world, heart racing with the thrill of victory coursing through his veins, and the sweet mint of Iwaizumi’s lip balm against his own.

Of course, the fantasy had to end at some, when he pulled his face away from Iwaizumi and dropped his hands away from his face. “Iwa-chan, I’m really sorry—” Oikawa starts to laugh from the nerves when he gets a good distance away from his best friend, an apology already on his lips that he doesn’t get to complete.

—

Iwaizumi can’t move, because of two things.

One, because Oikawa is holding him firmly in place and he is deceptively strong despite the slimmer muscles of his arms.

Two, because Oikawa is kissing him.

It’s a terrible kiss—the angle is off, Iwaizumi’s eyes are wide open, Oikawa’s lips are pressed too close together for Iwaizumi to even feel anything remotely pleasant, and it was over before Iwaizumi managed to gather his bearings to kiss him back.

The idiot was already spurting apologies, his pale skin flushed a lovely puce as he refused to look at Iwaizumi’s face. Iwaizumi lets out a scoff before he’s the one reaching to grip Oikawa’s thin waist to pull him in for another kiss.

A better one this time.

The five-centimetre gap between them works in Iwaizumi’s favour, as he needs to do is to tip his head up a little bit to claim his lips like he’s always dreamed of. Oikawa lets out a squeak that’s quickly drowned out by the collective gasp of their teammates, which also acts as the perfect opening for Iwaizumi to slowly slip his tongue in between Oikawa’s lips, wanting to taste his mouth thoroughly.

Iwaizumi smiles into the kiss when he feels Oikawa’s hesitation melt away and starts to respond to his kisses, his hands resting on the bare skin of Iwaizumi’s broad shoulders. The older boy adjusts his grip on Oikawa’s waist to hold him across his lower back when he tilts his jaw the other way to run the tip of his tongue across Oikawa’s upper lip.

The shaky gasp Oikawa lets out against his mouth will be enough to fuel his fantasies for years to come, Iwaizumi admits.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki immediately usher their younger teammates out of the locker room, planning to give them some semblance of privacy despite what they already saw, with Hanamaki whistling loudly when Iwaizumi groans at Oikawa dropping his jaw a fraction to lick into his mouth.

Once the door closes firmly after Matsukawa, Iwaizumi presses against Oikawa harder, pinning him against the door of his locker to kiss him fully. Oikawa mirrors the slow intensity of Iwaizumi’s motions, letting out another small sound from his throat at the feeling of their lips sliding against the other’s, luxuriating in the way Iwaizumi’s tongue curls against his.

Iwaizumi would have loved to kiss Oikawa more and more until his lungs burned for air until he got his fill of what he wanted for so long, but Oikawa tips his jaw down enough for Iwaizumi to slow down, and eventually pull away.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi calls out, voice raspy from the lack of air. “You okay?” He asks, arms still around Oikawa’s waist and hands resting on the muscles of his lower back.

All he could focus on was the clean scent of Oikawa’s perfume, the warmth of his toned body against his, and the sweetness of the lemon flavoured mints he liked to suck on after practice, unable to clear the haze of his mind.

“Uhuh.” Oikawa answers back numbly, panting lightly as he tries to pace his breathing again. His eyes are just as hazy as Iwaizumi’s, more black than chocolate brown with how wide his pupils were. He crumples to the floor when Iwaizumi loosens the strong grip on his waist, knees still too weak to hold his weight after the way Iwaizumi disabled all his higher thinking with just his tongue.

“Tooru, are you sure?” Iwaizumi asks again in that soft voice of his, reaching up to smooth Oikawa’s hair away from his face. The way he utters Oikawa’s name with such reverence adds to the pit of desire he’s just unlocked, making the brown-haired boy’s hands shake. “Did I force you? I’m sorry, I just thought—well—you did kiss me first.” He mumbles, and Oikawa just draws his knees to his chest and hides his face in them, groaning.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen like this!” Oikawa cries out, and Iwaizumi’s heart drops down to the floor, thinking that he could’ve forced him into this, that Oikawa’s kiss was a cruel, stupid prank. He can’t even muster the thought to get mad at him because Oikawa doesn’t know of his feelings, and reacting badly was a dead giveaway.

“I really am sorry,” Iwaizumi repeats, falling away from Oikawa. “It was just—”

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this!” Oikawa cuts him off, peaking at Iwaizumi with tears shining in his eyes, feeling all sorts of confused now that heat of the moment has dissipated. “I was the one that was supposed to sweep you off your feet after I told you that I loved you!” Iwaizumi can’t believe what he was hearing—Oikawa is angry because he got kissed within an inch of his life? Wait, _loved_?

“You’re angry because I’m a good kisser?” Iwaizumi blurts out, and Oikawa makes another sound of despair. “How are you so good at that—Iwa-chan, I’m serious—who made you so good at that—” Oikawa rambles on, a petulant pout on his kiss-swollen lips.

Iwaizumi leans in again for another kiss, softer and more chaste this time around. “Who cares? You’re the only one I’m gonna be kissing now anyway.” He cuts Oikawa off, unable to hold back the grin on his face, or the glee that threatens to make his chest burst over his feelings being reciprocated.

Oikawa looks like a deer caught in the headlights, with that look of utter confusion on his face.

“You love me, Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi questions as he leans their foreheads together, thumbs stroking along the hinge of Oikawa’s jaw. Oikawa searches his eyes for any indication that this was just a cruel joke, that this was just another setup, but there’s nothing but sincere love and devotion in the bright green of Iwaizumi’s eyes. The weight on his chest dissipates, now replaced with the need to laugh or cry, or both, so he does exactly that.

“Unfortunately, you brute.” Oikawa tries to be snarky, but the way his voice shakes and the way his smile grows bigger every second that passes by makes it barely believable. “I’m in love with you, Iwa-chan.” He whispers shakily, unable to stop the tears from falling down his face at finally being able to say the truth in front of him without the fear of getting hurt anymore.

Iwaizumi looks like he’s been punched in the gut with the way he stares at Oikawa wordlessly for a while before he starts laughing. Slow, deep chuckles until they dissipate into breathy laughter. He kisses Oikawa on the forehead before saying, “Oh Christ, you really are an ugly crier.”

Oikawa can’t help but hit Iwaizumi across the chest, before standing up and wiping at his face. “I’m trying to confess my undying love for you here, and that's what you have to say? If I didn’t know you can barely lie, I’d think this was a joke.” He asks, not even bothering the disbelief in his voice.

Iwaizumi merely says, “You think if the feeling isn't mutual, I’d let you near me like that even as a joke?” He reaches into his locker for a shirt, pulling it over his head before he’s pulling Oikawa close by the waist again, hugging him close.

Oikawa can’t stop the tears from falling when he hears the next words Iwaizumi says against his ear. “I love you too, Oikawa.” He feels his chest rumble with laughter when Oikawa hugs him back tightly, sniffling against his shoulder. “You’re such a dense idiot sometimes.”

“You didn’t tell me!” Oikawa accuses, continuing to cry on Iwaizumi’s shirt. He calms down when he feels the lazy circles Iwaizumi traces down the length of his spine. “I wanted to, so badly.”

“We could’ve been like this for so much longer.” Oikawa states in a small voice, and Iwaizumi makes a noise of agreement. He replies against his neck, reaching up to play with the curls at the nape of Oikawa’s neck.

“I pulled out all the stops, you know? I took better care of you, I bought you food, watched your shitty movies. What else could I do? Thought it wasn’t mutual when you avoided me for a week and refused to tell me why. Thought I was supposed to take that as a hint to stop.”

Oikawa pulls away when he hears the dejected tone in Iwaizumi’s voice, wiping his tears away with his thumbs. “I didn’t notice, Iwa-chan, I really didn’t.” He whispers so closely to Iwaizumi, that their lips brush when he utters the words. “Tell me everything when we get home, everything.”

“Only if you do the same. No more secrets?”

“No more.”

—

Untangling himself from Iwaizumi proves to be hard than Oikawa thought, already shivering when his warmth gets farther and farther away until Iwaizumi is just standing in front of him. Oikawa’s hands itch with the need to pull him in again, but a knock on the team locker room door makes them jump further apart.

“Are you two decent or should I just lock you in and wait until morning?” Matsukawa’s deep voice slips in through the thin crack he’s opened in the door, while Hanamaki can barely hold in his sniggers as he tries to peak in.

Oikawa flips him off once their eyes meet, while Iwaizumi just pats his finger down. “Don’t be crass, you idiot.”

The other two don’t even bother to step back into the room, more interested to see the outcome of their plan that was weeks in the making. “So?” Hanamaki asks, swinging his legs by the gaps of bannister outside.

“So?” Oikawa asks back, burying his nose back into organising his locker as if he didn’t have Iwaizumi’s tongue down his throat ten minutes ago. “Are you two…?” Matsukawa asks, trailing off to leave the question in the air. Oikawa flushes, holding the door of his locker with his foot to keep his face away from view, but Iwaizumi chooses to answer for both of them.

“We’re gonna talk,” He says, zipping his jacket up to the chin, “See what happens.” He finishes lamely, going around the room to check for any valuables the other club members may have left behind to keep himself occupied, lingering awkwardly around the door.

Sensing the still peculiar vibe between the other two, Hanamaki chooses to wrap his arm around Matsukawa and tug him away, waving his goodbyes after tossing the locker room keys at Iwaizumi. “We’ll go ahead, let you have your _talk_. Later.”

“You think one of them will chicken out, Hiro?” The taller boy asks, letting himself be dragged off by Hanamaki. Hanamaki hums, deep in thought when they walk out of Seijoh’s grounds. “Don’t think so. Oikawa’s finally gotten his hands around one of the things he was so desperate for, so I don’t think he’d let the chance slip.” He says, staring up at the streetlights they passed on the way to the bus stop.

“How long do you think before they bang? I have a feeling it’ll be Iwaizumi who snaps first, strangely.” Matsukawa says, leaning against the ad covered by plexiglass.

The pink-haired boy hums, deep in thought as he flicks his thumb through his Instagram while waiting. “Nah, pretty sure captain’s vanilla, and Iwaizumi’s a romantic.”

Matsukawa is silent as they wait for the bus to roll around, but his next comment makes Hanamaki spurt water from his nose. “You never know. Still waters, deep dicking.” He says concisely, wiping at Hanamaki’s face with his sleeve when he laughs. “Oikawa’s gonna miss practice when it happens, for how long, I don’t know.”

—

“You wanna go home?”

Oikawa snaps out of his thoughts, head whisking towards Iwaizumi from where it's buried in his locker. Hanamaki and Matsukawa have left them to their own devices, and he’s sort of torn about it. If they all walked together, Oikawa’s never going to live through the endless ribbing those two will subject them to. Now that they’re alone, and the heated tension from earlier had cooled down a few degrees, and Oikawa doesn’t know how to proceed.

There wasn’t exactly an instructional video or manual he can commit to memory on _what to do after you’ve sucked face with your best friend and professed your undying love for them._

“Y-yeah.” He mumbles, pushing his fringe away from his forehead. There was no use trying to prolong this, and there were only so many ways he can organise the box of toiletries and extra clothes he keeps in his locker. “Let me just—yeah.” He winces at the loud slam of his locker door and jogs up towards Iwaizumi with his bag hoisted across his back already.

The walk home is awkward, to say the least.

They don’t talk but walk close enough for their shoulders to brush against the other’s, but Oikawa keeps his hands glued on to the strap of his bag despite staring at Iwaizumi’s hand longingly since they turned the corner.

“Makki and Mattsun, huh?” Oikawa says, wincing at how desperate he sounds for conversation. “Didn’t know that they were a thing.” He trails off, eyes flickering between the road they’ve been walking on for the past two and a half years and Iwaizumi’s loosely curled hand to his right. “I kinda knew,” Came the admission from Iwaizumi, “I mean I had a hunch, but yeah. They’re not subtle, but they don’t try to hide it either.”

“What—Iwa-chan! Why didn’t you tell me?” Oikawa demands, holding down the urge to stomp his foot on the ground like a toddler after being kept in the dark.

“I thought you knew!”

“Well, I don’t, Iwa-chan!”

Oikawa yells back, and for a moment, it feels like regular banter between regular friends. Until Oikawa grows hyper-aware of Iwaizumi’s mere presence beside himand is overcome with the nonsensical impulse to swallow his own tongue.

The conversation dies as quickly as it lived because Oikawa is wondering how two of his closest friends have been dating for a while now under his nose. He wonders what else he’s missed, other than Iwaizumi’s _apparent_ feelings for him that he failed to notice.

“You’re really quiet.” Iwaizumi starts when the silence gets a touch too stifling, scratching at the side of his neck when Oikawa turns his head away too fast to be normal from his hand. “Is there something you wanna ask me?”

Oikawa doesn’t even pause to think about it, blurting out the first thing in his head. “I really wanna hold your hand.” He says, before shutting his mouth with a click and wincing. How smooth.

Despite years of developing the veneer of easy charm and confidence Oikawa arms himself with on a daily basis, he can never really hold it up around Iwaizumi, making himself look like a fool that’s too overcome with the need to take, take, and take.

Iwaizumi’s lips slide into a slow smile at the outburst, before he’s holding a hand up and reaching towards the death grip Oikawa has on the strap of his bag. “Can I?” He asks, trailing his fingers around the knob of Oikawa’s wrist, his touch tentative and delicate.

Oikawa hesitantly removes his right hand from his bag and nods. Iwaizumi slowly tangles their fingers together, and the pads Oikawa’s longer fingers brush on the knuckles of Iwaizumi’s larger hand when their palms touch.

The skin of their hands are hardly delicate—Oikawa is no stranger to popping blisters and picking calluses from his palms as much as he tries to remedy it with hand cream—but it feels great. Iwaizumi’s hand is warm and perfect, and Oikawa is mortified at how hot his face feels at this bit of skinship.

He just had Iwaizumi lick into his mouth half an hour ago.

He’s gone further with other people and had himself in more precarious situations.

He’s had other _things_ than his tongue stuck in other _people_ , for fuck’s sake.

He’s not new to _any_ of this.

With how experienced Oikawa was, and the sheer amount of rigorous physical training he does on a near-daily basis, why does he feel winded from just holding Iwaizumi’s hand?

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa speaks, trying to find the words to convey the mix of emotions in his stomach, but none suffice. “Are we...are we dating now?” His voice is small when he asks, eyes still glued on their intertwined hands, breath hitching Iwaizumi flexes his fingers and squeezes. “If you want to, ‘cause I do.” He replies quietly, keeping his eyes forward.

The sound of cars driving in the distance and crickets seem to fade into the background with how hard Oikawa’s heartbeat is thundering in his ears. “Are you mine now?” Oikawa breathes out, stopping in his tracks to stare at Iwaizumi’s profile, chest heavy with anticipation.

Iwaizumi’s answer almost makes him burst into tears in the middle of the road, and Oikawa desperately commits the smile his best friend— _boyfriend?_ —gives him to mind, wanting to dream of it for years to come.

Iwaizumi’s green eyes shine with unshed tears, cheekbones flushed a lovely crimson, and his left cheek dimpling when he smiles at Oikawa. “I’ve always been yours, Oikawa, whether you were aware of it or not.” He whispers over the white noise, his thumb rubbing over the mole on Oikawa’s index finger.

“I guess I was just waiting for you to notice on your own.” Iwaizumi murmurs, and Oikawa can only stare at him, speechless for the second time in his life. Unable to help himself, he drags Iwaizumi to a dark corner, before wrapping his arms around his neck tightly.

The tears come harder now that most of their pretences have been shed, and Oikawa wants to love Iwaizumi so much harder than he knows he’s capable of to make up for lost time. “I’m sorry for making you wait, Iwa-chan.” He sobs and Iwaizumi’s wet chuckles by his ear lets him know that he’s not the only one happy about these turn of events.

“You were worth the wait. Every damned minute.” Iwaizumi whispers, staring at Oikawa’s delicately pinched features, before pulling him in for another kiss.

—

Dinner is a quiet affair—as quiet as it can be in Oikawa’s home—Oikawa’s mother and older sister are chattering about one of the latter’s college friends, his father speaks in every so often in agreement to their conversation, while Takeru looks like he’s just about to bolt from the dinner table to rot his brain on whatever video game he was currently playing.

Oikawa is squirming in his seat, staring at the clock.

They had agreed to at least have dinner separately with their own parents—and sibling, in Oikawa’s case—because of two things, their mothers were too perceptive and would never let them live it down, and he’d really like to not spill the beans until he and Iwaizumi had the actual chance to sit down and talk. Oikawa had only relented on the deal on Iwaizumi’s promise that he was going to come sleepover after dinner.

“Tooru, are you okay?” His mother asks when she notices that he’s been mindlessly pushing a chunk of leftover carrot from the night’s curry dinner. Oikawa snaps out of the trace he’s in and stares at her, setting his chopsticks down. “Huh?”

“Your eyes look red, are you sick?” She reaches out to hold a palm against his neck, checking his temperature. “You’re not warm though.”

Oikawa remembers that he had just been intermittently crying for the better half of the evening, and forgot how his face got when he cried, all splotchy tear-tracked cheeks, swollen eyelids, not to mention the redness in his eyes.

“Just spent too long in my contacts, _kaa-san,_ I’ll remove them after dinner.” He smiles, offering the flimsy excuse, even though he’s never felt any discomfort in the years since he had switched contact lens brands in middle school. “Oh, by the way, Iwa-chan’s staying over tonight, that’s cool right?”

His sister’s head whips in his direction so fast that Oikawa winces in her place, but the sympathy is quickly lost when she stares at him with that scrutinising gaze he’s so familiar with. She grins at him, sharp and wolfish. “What’re you two gonna do, Tooru?”

Countering his sister is easy to do, with how many times Oikawa’s done it in the past. She’s a bloodhound when it comes to every detail in Oikawa’s love life, all too aware of his exes more than he was comfortable with. If she catches a whiff of this development with Iwaizumi, she’d take the opportunity Oikawa’s handed to her on a silver platter and _embarrass_ him in front of their parents.

He’s pretty sure that there was already a betting pool on whose son will crack first between their mothers.

“Nunya, _nee-chan._ ”

“None of your business.” Oikawa sticks out his tongue at his sister, feeling the thrill of vindication over her actually taking the bait. “I’ll go ahead—oi, at least bring your stuff to the sink!” He starts to get up from the dinner table and clear his bowls when Takeru takes the chance to bolt away to the living room just as Oikawa only begins to utter his words.

—

Oikawa’s sure he’s about to make his gums bleed at how many times he’s brushed his teeth during his shower, gargling mouthwash as he lets the conditioner sit in his hair for a bit. Iwaizumi will arrive in less than an hour, and his futon was already in Oikawa’s room. It was only a matter of spreading it out when it was time for bed. There wasn’t really much to prepare anymore, but his face starts to burn when he realises the lack of _supplies_ in his dresser.

Not that he was anticipating anything to happen between them—they weren’t even official yet, and as far as he knew, Iwaizumi didn’t have any _male_ exes. Oikawa did, but he never got to _that point_ with them yet.

Does he even know what to do?

Does he even _want_ to do it with Oikawa?

Oikawa blinks a couple of times at the mirror before he spits out the mouthwash in the sink, hissing at the sting at the insides of his cheeks. He rinses himself off and gets himself dressed, proceeding with the extensive skincare routine he maintains to keep himself occupied.

When he gets to the toner, he pats at his cheeks a little harder for good measure, as if he’d be able to slap the thought of sleeping with Iwaizumi away.

—

It’s almost ten in the evening when Iwaizumi arrives at Oikawa's house with little fanfare—it’s a five-minute walk from his own, and it's his nephew who opens the door for him. Oikawa’s parents greet him from the kitchen where they’re drying the dishes, and he slips into his own slippers once he gets to the genkan. “Hajime-kun, how are you? Tooru said you’re staying over tonight.”

“Yes, sorry for the intrusion.” He murmurs, tipping his head down with a smile. Oikawa’s mother laughs, soft and high. “You’re always welcome here, Hajime-kun!” She says, reaching up to pat at his cheeks. “Tooru’s probably done with his shower, why don’t you go up to his room and check?”

“Sure. Thank you, _Oba-san_.”

—

Oikawa prepares everything—his laptop is charged, the futons have already been spread out, and he’s been scrolling through Instagram to pass the time. When he hears the front door open and hears footsteps up the stairs, he shoots up to his feet and nearly slips on the edge of a blanket when he rushes to his bedroom door to fling it open to open the door for Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi startles when Oikawa’s door flies open just as he’s about to knock on it, staring at Oikawa’s wide eyes. “Iwa-chan! Hi!” He almost squeaks, winding down from the adrenaline.

“Hi?” He greets back when Oikawa moves to the side to let him in, and they finally take each other in as soon as the door clicks shut. Iwaizumi has a soft blue jumper over the striped tee he has underneath, with his overnight bag in hand that he sets by the hook on Oikawa’s closet.

Oikawa is dressed in a dark blue pair of shorts and a white tee that looks strangely reminiscent of Kitagawa Daichi’s volleyball club uniform. His hair is a little too fluffed out, like he rushed in drying it, and didn’t even bother to style it.

Oikawa swallows the knot in his throat and feels his fingers tremble, reaching out to grasp the sleeve of Iwaizumi’s jumper to pull him close and bury himself into the crook of his neck. Iwaizumi smells like the same soap he’s used since they were kids, mixed with the flowery scent of the fabric softener his mother prefered, and something else distinctly _him_. His arms wrap around hesitantly around Oikawa’s waist. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa mumbles into his shoulder, “‘M fine, just wanted to hug you.” He pulls away enough to look at Iwaizumi under the bright light of his room and gets himself pulled into his eyes.

He’s suddenly overcome with the need to kiss Iwaizumi again with him being _so close_ , staring at the tips of his eyelashes, the slope of his nose, the small mole on his cheek he’s never noticed, and Iwaizumi is quick to notice how unabashedly Oikawa stares at his bottom lip.

“Iwa-chan, I wanna...can I?” Oikawa whispers, so close that Iwaizumi catches the mint of his mouthwash, and Oikawa gasps when the other’s hands come down to rest on his lower back, edging on his hip, squeezing once.

“Nothing’s stopping you.” Came Iwaizumi’s challenging response, and then Oikawa is leaning in to seal their lips again for what seems to be the fourth time today.

So much for _sitting down_ and _talking about it_ , Oikawa thinks for half a second.

He angles his head lower to make up for the small height difference, fingers gripping the back of Iwaizumi’s jumper when a tongue swipes over the seam of his lips. Oikawa is unable to quiet the pleased sound he lets out when Iwaizumi holds him tighter, giving him all the permission he needs to brush his tongue over the roof of his mouth.

Oikawa feels the rush of competitiveness mingle with the heat building in the pit of his belly. He is by all aspects, a perfectionist, and the fact that Iwaizumi was hiding all this _skill_ from him all this time both infuriates and excites him—he wants to beat Iwaizumi in his own game, leave him flushed and heated and desperate for more, eager to know everything that makes Iwaizumi tick and moan under him.

They part away for a few painful seconds, a thin line of saliva still linking their lips together, panting into each other’s mouths to catch their breath. “Iwa-chan—bed.” Oikawa gasps out when Iwaizumi licks it off, knees too weak to hold himself up. Luckily for him, Iwaizumi mirrors his sentiments.

“Yeah, okay, lemme just—wait.” Iwaizumi babbles, a thin ring of green around his pupils showing just how far gone he was, bending down to heave him up by his thighs and take the few steps to the centre of the room. He takes the opportunity to nose against his jaw as soon as he sets him down, settling between thick thighs and peppering the soft skin with barely-there kisses that makes Oikawa tremble. 

Oikawa’s fingers immediately tangle in Iwaizumi’s unexpectedly soft hair, arching up to let their lips meet once more. His jaw falls open to finally, _finally_ take Iwaizumi’s lower lip to worry it between his teeth and soothe it with his tongue, and the quiet groan he lets out makes Oikawa unbearably hot under the collar.

The rushed inhales of breath and the slick sounds of their lips are loud in Oikawa’s otherwise silent room, only broken by the quiet hum of his air conditioning and the sparse moans escaping their chests.

Oikawa almost _whines_ when Iwaizumi parts abruptly away from him, but quickly chokes on his own breath when he straightens up between Oikawa’s splayed thighs and _tugs_ at the back of his own jumper to rip it off in one fluid motion.

The sight makes Oikawa moan appreciatively, sending a shot of white-hot heat down his spine, and the way Iwaizumi smirks down on him with hunger in his eyes makes Oikawa absolutely _shiver_ down to the core.

If Iwaizumi reaches another degree of hotness in Oikawa’s eyes within the next five minutes, Oikawa will have to take over. He will ride his best friend as fast and hard as he can, weekend practice be damned.

Iwaizumi doesn’t kiss him just yet, choosing to resume his trail down Oikawa’s jaw from earlier, and it’s by sheer virtue of the strength of his arm wrapped Oikawa’s waist that he doesn’t melt into the blankets.

With the soft kisses being pressed into his neck, Oikawa almost wants to dare Iwaizumi to bite him, to dig his teeth into the pale skin of his neck and watch the marks bloom darker, to finally claim him as his. Iwaizumi seems to read his mind, and Oikawa has to bite down on his lip when he nips at a patch of skin behind his ear to hold down the loud gasp he almost lets out.

Oikawa feels the huff of his laughter on his skin at the reaction, nipping at Oikawa’s earlobe with his canines to make him gasp one more time. He digs his nails in Iwaizumi’s shoulder blades through his shirt and drags them down in retaliation but doesn’t make any moves to get away from Iwaizumi’s ministrations.

It’s so risky, with Oikawa’s parents just downstairs, probably dozing off with the late-night talk shows in the background, and the walls and floors of his house are paper thin, but Oikawa can’t bring himself to care at all.

Oikawa tugs him away by the hair and the look of satisfaction at finding a number of his weak spots is so apparent in Iwaizumi’s features. His eyes are burning, and Oikawa wants to do everything, and feel every inch of Iwaizumi’s skin.

So, he does the first thing he thinks of, and slides his palm up Iwaizumi’s shirt, watching his eyelids flutter close when he traces down the muscles on his belly. Oikawa has seen Iwaizumi half-naked on multiple occasions and is fully aware of how fit he truly is, all smooth, tanned skin over thick muscle.

Seeing it around the locker room is one thing, but actually _feeling it_ with his hands is another. He feels his abs tremble under his fingers, completely enraptured with how Iwaizumi’s breath shakes when he lightly drags his nails down, bucking his hips up immediately to switch their positions.

However, he overestimates the distance and _knocks_ his head none too gently against his side table.

Not exactly the kind of banging he half-expected to happen tonight.

“Oh my god.” Oikawa spits out, and ambience is completely gone, taken over by shock, which later morphs into low bubbling panic.

The heat in Iwaizumi’s eyes dissipates quickly, replaced by worry as he straightens up, hand hovering where Oikawa was holding his head. “Holy shit, are you okay?” He asks a little too loudly, but honestly, the sound of Oikawa’s head hitting the wood was very much hard to miss either.

It takes a little bit of rearranging, now with Oikawa kneeling in front of Iwaizumi rather than straddling him, and the latter gently cupping his head, checking the extent of the injury. Oikawa’s mother’s voice can be heard from down the stairs, confused about the sudden noise. “Tooru? Hajime? What’s going on?”

Iwaizumi has half the mind to quickly yell back an excuse. “Oikawa just hit his head—because of a jump scare. Sorry!” His hands immediately come up to his face to mush his cheeks together, head whipping towards the full body mirror by Oikawa’s dresser and standing up to it. “Iwa-chan, what the hell are you doing?” He hisses, squinting his eyes.

“What if your mother comes up and sees up like this? There’s not really much explanation how we both look like this!” Iwaizumi hisses back, and Oikawa finally sees him beyond the haze of desperation and desire over his eyes—Iwaizumi’s face is flushed, hair all over the place, with his lips spit-slick and swollen.

Oikawa can only imagine what he looks like, probably similar, or even worse, with how his lips are just starting to feel a touch bruised. “Just wait here, I’ll wash my face and get you some ice.” Iwaizumi says, a little too fast for Oikawa to actually keep up. He looks for his jumper, throwing it haphazardly over his head before he’s running down the steps.

Oikawa presses at the tender spot at the side of his head, wincing in pain and quickly drawing his hand away to check for any bleeding. When his fingers come away clean, Oikawa pulls at a pillow to muffle his groan into.

To think he was just getting to the good part, he whines internally, if he had successfully pulled that move off, he would’ve had his tongue not only in Iwaizumi’s mouth but also on Iwaizumi’s abs too.

Iwaizumi comes back with the tips of his sideburns still a little bit wet, a few wet spots around his collar that Oikawa assumes is from splashing his face with cold water, and one of those frozen gel packs in his hand. “Where are your washcloths?” He asks when he steps back into the room.

Oikawa points to the third drawer on his dresser, still massaging the bump and Iwaizumi pulls out the first washcloth he sees before walking on his knees towards him. “Where did you hit your head?” He hovers around Oikawa, watching him part his hair with one hand to show the damage. He gets a hard swat to the thigh when he presses the gel pack a little too hard on the bump on Oikawa’s head.

“Would it kill you to be a little gentler, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa whisper-shouts, a sour expression on his face. Iwaizumi only scoffs, but he does lighten his hand around the injury. “It’s not my fault your side table was there.” He replies, keeping the gel pack on the bump and laying down the washcloth on Oikawa’s shoulder to catch any condensation.

The sour expression doesn’t lighten up at all, but the pout on Oikawa’s lips makes Iwaizumi snort. “What!”

“Nothing, does your head hurt?”

“Really?”

“I mean do you feel like you’re gonna throw up or something?”

“Iwa-chan, I’ve received spikes to the head before. This is nothing, I’m fine—I’m already hurt, why are you already adding insult to injury!” Oikawa hisses when Iwaizumi flicks his forehead, swatting at him again when he actually starts to burst into laughter.

His face is soft when he looks down at Oikawa, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. “I think that was a bit of divine intervention making us stop for now.” He murmurs, running his thumb on the smooth curve of Oikawa’s cheek back and forth.

“God takes all the good things I want away from me.”

“Don’t be melodramatic, I’m still right here,” Iwaizumi replies, shifting the gel pack over Oikawa’s head. “I didn’t say stop completely, just for now.”

Oikawa doesn’t stop himself from leaning into his touch, sighing in contentment. With the sudden drop of adrenaline in his blood and the soothing timbre of Iwaizumi’s voice, Oikawa feels his lids droop a bit. “Don’t sleep yet, I need to make sure you don’t get a headache or throw up.”

“But there’s nothing else to do, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines out, fingers lingering around the hem of Iwaizumi’s old Nike shorts, dipping lightly underneath the fabric. “You know, I wanted to do it with you.” Oikawa bites his lip in a way that he knows is effective as he peers up at Iwaizumi through his lashes, and it seems like Iwaizumi isn’t that immune to his charms after all when he goes red after Oikawa’s admission.

“Let’s make sure that the blood in _this_ head of yours isn’t just floating in your skull first.” Oikawa’s eyes shine with the realisation that technically, Iwaizumi didn’t say no to sleeping with him.

“Ooooh, you wanna do it with me, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa teases, grinning up at the other boy with a manic glint to his smile. “Wanna pin me down like you did earlier and have your way with me?” The tension between them almost pulses, thinning and thickening with Oikawa’s innuendo-filled banter and Iwaizumi’s cruelly honest answers, eased by the actual hilarity of Oikawa bonking his head against a piece of furniture because of being too excited.

“You’re a little shit.”

“Oh, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa rolls off every syllable of the childhood nickname slowly, making it sound incredibly dirty in his mouth. “Trust me, I’m anything but little, and you didn’t answer my question.” He rebuts, cocking an eyebrow up at Iwaizumi.

“Well, neither am I,” Iwaizumi drawls out, and Oikawa’s eyes immediately shoot down to his hips, filled with the need to _confirm_ the truth behind his statement.

“But to answer your questions, yeah, I do.” He continues nonchalantly, with no word of a lie, as if Oikawa just asked for the time of day and not if he was interested in having sex with him. “I’ve thought about, I’m not going to lie.” His palm slides off of Oikawa’s cheek to pick the washcloth off his shoulder, wrapping it around the thawing gel pack in his other hand.

His uninterested tone and now-cursory touches on Oikawa belies the barely concealed want that shines deep in his eyes, and Oikawa feels like he’s about to swallow his tongue when he feels the weight of Iwaizumi‘s gaze.

Squirming, he feels his fight or flight response grow skewed in his brain, unable to tell if he was afraid or just plained turn on at the confirmation he just got. “Iwa-chan,” Oikawa rasps out, suddenly overcome with thirst—both the literal and metaphorical kind. “How did you get so hot?” He blurts out, and Iwaizumi can’t help but laugh at the unabashedly honest compliment.

“You looked at yourself lately?” He quips, and Oikawa can’t help but gasp very loudly.

“Iwa-chan! Did you just compliment me?”

“Quit moving too much!” Iwaizumi reaches out to steady Oikawa’s shoulders, pinning him in place. “My arm’s getting tired, and I have to replace this.” The gel pack had completely thawed at this point, making Oikawa cringe at the stray droplets of condensation dripping down from his hair to his nape.

“Do me a favour and stand up, will you?” Iwaizumi sets the washcloth aside and helps Oikawa to his feet with an uncharacteristic softness towards him. “Put your feet together and close your eyes.”

“You gonna kiss me again, Iwa-chan?”

“I’m trying to check on your balance, dipshit.” Oikawa doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that Iwaizumi just rolled his eyes at him, crossing his arms indignantly, but the irritation just falls off his shoulders easily with the way Iwaizumi’s worry rolls off of him in waves.

“Iwa-chan, I know you’re just desperate to replace my mom, but I’m fine, I promise,” He trails off, feeling Iwaizumi’s hands trail down from his shoulders to hold one of his hands and squeeze at it gently.

“A little hungry, but other than that, I’m okay.” Oikawa says jokingly, finally opening his eyes. Iwaizumi lingers for a few seconds in place, staring down at their fingers before he leans in to press on a kiss on Oikawa’s cheek. “I’ll be back, you can sit down again.” He promises, before ducking down to pluck at the sad gel pack sitting on the side table guilty for cutting things off abruptly.

—

Somehow in the next hour and a half, Oikawa finds himself lying half on his side and belly watching a bunch of super-powered siblings be blasted through different years on his laptop with Iwaizumi, the lights dimmed and a myriad of crisps and bottled drinks within arm’s reach.

It was as if the entire’s day’s events never even happened—the stupid dare that Oikawa got baited to do, the first awkward kiss, coming clean over their feelings, nearly getting himself a concussion—with how mundane the setting was. It felt like another series binge night with his best friend, but obviously there was no going back to what they were, was there?

He cradles his still tender head on one arm, pressing another frozen gel pack to the tender part of his head, looking longingly on Iwaizumi’s futon. It doesn’t twinge in pain anymore, nor does he get a headache, but Oikawa keeps the ice on for Iwaizumi’s peace of mind.

Oikawa keeps staring, not even paying attention to the video playing anymore. They’re _dating_ now, _boyfriends_ even, why was he even getting self-conscious about just asking to cuddle?

He’s forced Iwaizumi into more arm clutching and hugging and flirtations before, and suddenly they make out ( _twice)_ and all of a sudden Oikawa suddenly becomes subdued?

It's truly a testament of how well Iwaizumi knows Oikawa because he turns to him with a crooked grin, mirth shining in his eyes. “Really? Now you’re shy?” He asks, raising his blanket up for Oikawa to come closer.

Oikawa pouts, almost wanting to contest Iwaizumi’s teasing, but he’s had a really long day, and the need to have Iwaizumi close wins over. He sets the ice pack to a bowl that Iwaizumi brought up in his room and scoots closer until he lies perfectly beside Iwaizumi, burrowing into the warmth of the blanket he sets over him.

“We’re boyfriends now, right?” Oikawa bites at his lip, staring up with Iwaizumi with hopeful eyes where he’s got his head cradled on one arm. He leans closer, smoothing Oikawa’s fringe with his other hand before it trails down to rest at his lower back.

“Yeah, we are.” Iwaizumi almost looks misty-eyed, and Oikawa would’ve teased him more for it if he wasn’t feeling the same way. He repeats the words he says to Oikawa on their way home earlier that evening, whispering it into the darkness of the room oh so lovingly that it makes Oikawa’s heart clench in his chest. “I’m yours, Tooru.”

—

“Hey, Iwa-chan.” Tooru calls out again when the fourth episode’s credits start to roll, staring at Iwaizumi through the glare of his laptop screen. “Hm?”

“Iwa-chan, I...” he starts, swallowing down the nerves, correcting himself so that he could Iwaizumi know that he was incredibly sincere and that it was the honest truth. “I love you, Hajime.” He whispers, watching Hajime’s eyelashes flicker at his words.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m yours too.” Tooru feels him stiffen and melt against him in a matter of seconds before he pulls away minutely, adjusting their position on the blankets.

Hajime smiles that one smile that Tooru has been coveting for years now—soft green eyes brimming with happiness and affection for him, lips stretched over perfect teeth, and dimples fully in display—now it’s solely _his_. 

With Tooru’s long fingers cupping his neck and jaw, Hajime leans down to meet him halfway in their most chaste kiss of the evening. “I love you too, Tooru.” He replies, drinking in the sight of Tooru beside him, pink, flushed, and so, so in love.

—

_Epilogue:_

Maybe binge-watching a series until half-past three in the morning was a bad idea, Oikawa thinks, as he walks into the school gym with his glasses on at eight am.

Also, maybe crying on and off through an entire night, not a great idea either.

Oh well, he got a boyfriend out of it, so _eh._

On Iwaizumi, the swollen eyes don't look just as noticeable, or maybe his face just doesn’t puff up in the mornings like Oikawa’s does.

What a fucking lucky, _incredibly gorgeous_ bastard Oikawa’s boyfriend was.

On top of the dry, swollen, and puffy eyes that his contact lenses just refuse to cling on, the skewed depth perception of the glasses makes him set up tosses that were just a smidge off where they were supposed to be, and his service aces are nowhere near as precise as he’d like them to be.

There was also the relentless teasing Hanamaki subjects him to, both over his glasses and the incident last night in the locker room.

Kindaichi can’t even look him or Iwaizumi in the eye without going into a full-body blush and sputtering over his words.

“How was your evening? You look like you didn’t get any sleep.” He teases, elbowing Oikawa lightly as they take a water break. “I’m impressed you’re actually walking, Oikawa.”

“We didn’t do anything else last night, Makki,” Oikawa wipes at his face with the bottom of his shirt harshly. “As much as I wanted to. We talked and made out. That’s it.”

“Ooh, why? Couldn’t get it up? Wanted to take it slow?” Hanamaki asks, sort of confused and unsettled about the answer, hiding his concern under a joke. _Did they not get together?_

Oikawa heaves a deep breath from his chest as if recalling the situation pained him physically.

“No, I banged my head on a table trying to climb on him and nearly got a concussion,” Oikawa states dryly, sipping at his drink with a forlorn expression that lets Hanamaki know he was not bluffing. “Don’t ask how, just know it was not the kind of banging I expected to happen last night.” He continues, clearly frustrated about the entire thing.

Amazingly, Hanamaki recovers just as quickly without falling to his knees, laughing his wits out. “Come to think of it, you’d never let us hear the end of it if you did get laid.”

“Exactly.” Oikawa states, winking at him cheekily, snapping his middle finger and thumb to toss him a finger gun.

A beat of silence falls over them as they watch Iwaizumi and Matsukawa teach the non-string first-year club members how to effectively block a spike, and Hanamaki turns to look at Oikawa, who looks lighter than usual.

Seemingly unrequited love _was_ a heavy burden to bear.

“You still look like shit though,” Hanamaki whispers over Oikawa’s shoulder, trying to look through his glasses. “God, are you legally blind or something?”

“Not everyone is blessed with 20/20 vision, Makki.” Oikawa squawks, swatting at Hanamaki’s shoulder before a quick tug at his waist almost makes him stumble. “What’s going on?” Iwaizumi asks from behind him, hand still on Oikawa’s waist.

From the other side of the court, it wasn’t visible, but to Hanamaki and Matsukawa, it was such a blatant show of PDA that Oikawa stammers over his next few words. “I told him he looks terrible, did you even let him sleep, Iwaizumi?” Hanamaki jokes, making Matsukawa grin beside him.

“Don’t you dare make fun of me, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi turns to Oikawa, who had already flushed a pretty pink over the sudden attention. “I rarely get to see him wear glasses either, but I think he looks great.”

Matsukawa cuts in, “Of course you think he looks great, you had your tongue in his throat last night.” Iwaizumi’s grin is borderline feral when he looks at Matsukawa to reply, “I’m allowed to kiss my boyfriend in the privacy of his room, what about it?”

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative Title: Local Teen Gets Goaded into Tiktok Challenge, Almost Gets a Concussion and Gains Boyfriend as a Result
> 
> oh well, I've tried my darn diddly best to make fluff(?), because if you've read my works in the exo ficdom, I'm not exactly shitting out bubblegum and sparkles. Writing after a year was also great, because I just did this balls to the walls while juggling gradschool papers.
> 
> yea best friends to lovers iwaoi always makes me feral 
> 
> yell at my bird app: @_iwaizumeme


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